


Now That We're Here

by Crowgirl



Series: Scars Remind Us [59]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Cuddling, Cuddling & Snuggling, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 20:25:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/626192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ongoing discussion, and ramifications thereof, between Dean and Castiel about the after-effects of Hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now That We're Here

LIX.

Dean insists on driving away from the trap.

Since he can only make it about forty miles out before his body, so recently so abused, starts threatening to give out, Sam finds them a motel through some magical geekery with his cell phone. It’s sort of a cracker-box on the side of a state road, but the girl at the desk is nice and gives them a break on the price since they’re checking in past eleven at night.

There isn’t even a discussion about rooms: Dean and Cas in one, Bobby and Sam in the other.

Not that it makes much of a difference because Cas is gone by the time Dean comes out of the office, key in hand. He’d be worried, unhappy, maybe even a little bit angry about that, but he’s too fucking exhausted.

He lets himself into the room, yanks the curtains shut, turns on one light, dumps his duffel bag on the bed, and goes straight into the shower. He doesn’t bother turning the light on there, just turns the water up as hot as it will go. He barely remembers to take his shirt off before he gets in. He leaves his clothes in a pile on his boots and walks back out into the nearly dark bedroom naked and warm from the shower.

He goes to get boxers and a shirt out of his bag and only notices while he’s yanking the t-shirt over his head that there’s only one bed in the room: a generous queen-size. Either this is Sam’s idea of a great joke or-- fuck it, this is _totally_ Sam’s idea of a great joke. And if Cas were here, it might even be funny.

He has just enough time between yanking back the bedcovers so he can get into the bed, clicking off the light, and pulling the chemical-smelling sheet back up over his shoulders to wonder where Cas flapped off to so fast. And then he’s asleep.

* * *

For the first time in Dean can’t remember how fucking long, it isn’t a nightmare that wakes him up.

He comes awake without screaming or being covered in sweat or with tears on his cheeks or the pillow gripped so tight it hurts to let go.

He just...wakes up.

He blinks at the dim ceiling and tries to figure out _why_ he’s awake. There must’ve been something-- 

There’s a tap at the door and he reaches automatically for the gun under his pillow-- _Fuck._

At least it’s near the top of his duffel and the floor doesn’t creak as he makes his way across to the door. Yeah, it’s really unlikely that something nasty would _knock_ before wanting to snack on his innards but it wouldn’t be the first time. 

He cracks the door, then opens it all the way, dropping the gun on the windowsill beside the door. ‘Cas?’

‘Were you asleep?’ The angel is bracing himself with one hand on the doorframe, shoulders sagging.

‘Yeah, it’s this thing I do. What the hell’ve you been doing? Whoa...’ Dean reaches out and grabs Castiel’s shoulder as the angel tries to step in through the door and falters.

‘May I...may I come in?’

‘No, Cas, I’m gonna leave you on the fucking doorstep.’ Dean ducks under Castiel’s arm and half-lifts, half-supports him across to the bed, kicking the door shut behind him.

Castiel seems to become a little more alert once he’s sitting down. ‘I am...sorry for waking you up.’

‘Don’t worry about it. Where’d you disappear to?’ Dean clicks on the bedside light, then kneels down in front of Castiel and does his best to check him out for wounds as subtly as he can. There doesn’t seem to be anything: no blood, no bruises, no rips or tears. Castiel just looks _tired._ It’s a look Dean has gotten all too used to seeing on him.

‘I...had things to do.’

_‘What_ things, Cas?’

‘The...girl. Oriana. Her uncle.’

Dean frowns. ‘Try making a sentence out of that.’

Castiel frowns, too. ‘He killed her. Because of him, she became what she was.’

‘Okay...so you went and...Jesus, Cas.’ Dean swallows hard. ‘Did...did you kill him?’

Castiel shakes his head. ‘I let him see what he had done, what she had become, what kind of man he is.’

‘Is?’

‘There were other children, Dean.’

Dean grimaces, sitting back on his heels. ‘Great. So -- you did the ghost of Christmas future act and -- then what?’

‘Left him.’ Castiel makes a tiny movement that might be a shrug. ‘My purpose was not to judge him. Simply...to show him what he had done.’

Dean sits silent for a minute, watching Castiel’s face. The angel is staring into the middle distance as if pondering some deeply philosophical question -- in this case, Dean thinks it might be that he’s too tired to get his eyes to focus properly. ‘Cas.’ He puts a hand on the angel’s knee.

Castiel jerks up and back as if Dean had offered to hit him and Dean raises his hands in a theatrical gesture of surrender. ‘What?’

‘You wanna try and sleep for a couple hours? We had a hell of a day.’

Castiel opens his mouth to speak, but says nothing, nodding instead.

* * *

This is a more conscious sharing of space than anything they’ve done before and Dean’s not...really sure of the rules. Does he help Cas get undressed, for instance? Does he pull the covers back on the other side of the bed? Fluff a pillow? What the hell is he supposed to do with his _hands?_

In the end, he folds back the bedclothes and gets back in on his own side of the bed while Castiel slowly divests himself of clothing. He snaps off the light and Castiel doesn’t protest. The confusion of thoughts and feelings crowding in just from watching Cas unbutton his shirt are enough to make him dizzy again. He can’t cope with anything else -- not right now.

Dean feels the bed shift and dip as Castiel slides onto the mattress and the puff of cooler air as the covers raise and drop. Then the angel lies quiet, flat and straight under the sheet.

He doesn’t know what to do about this either. 

Yeah, they’ve slept together before but -- this feels different. This feels like a choice, a _decision_ that they’ll eventually have to _talk_ about -- figure out what it _means_ \-- and _discuss_ things and he is not anywhere near being up to that. Instead, he slides a hand along the cool bottom sheet until he finds Castiel’s wrist. The angel doesn’t pull away, so Dean wraps his fingers over the back of Castiel’s hand and closes his eyes.

There’s silence for long enough that Dean starts to drift back to sleep, his thoughts untangling and wandering as the blankets warm around him and his fingertip finds the regular beat of Castiel’s pulse below the angel’s thumb. It’s a soothing feeling, steady and firm under his fingers and he’s nearly asleep when there’s a sudden shudder of movement next to him and Castiel is pressed against him, hands knotted tight against his ribs, face buried against Dean’s shoulder.

‘What...’ Dean has a moment of confusion where he’s not sure if he’s still dreaming or not but the sound of Castiel’s harsh, rasping breath convinces him he’s awake. ‘Cas...you’re hurt?’

Castiel shakes his head against Dean’s shoulder.

‘Okay...’ 

‘I...felt what they did to you -- I saw it and -- I should have found you sooner.’ Castiel’s voice is muffled, broken.

Dean can’t think of anything to say.

‘I knew -- I knew before but -- she made me _feel_ and -- Dean, I am... If I could...take it from you, I would. I...I will find a way--’

‘No -- no, s’okay, Cas.’ Dean slides down under the covers, shifting so he can hold Castiel more comfortably against his side.

‘It is _not_ okay -- it is--’ Castiel drags in a rough breath and says, ‘It will not happen again.’

‘You’re damned right it won’t!’

‘No, it _cannot.’_ Castiel lays a hand on the scar on Dean’s shoulder and it burns again but only for a second. ‘I gave you much stronger protection.’

‘You gave me...armor?’ 

‘Something like that. I cannot be with you all the time and I know you will -- not keep yourself safe.’

‘I--’

‘This will...help.’ Castiel falls silent.

‘You could just say you love me.’ Dean means it as a joke but it doesn’t come out that way. As he hears the words, he realises he doesn’t mean it to be funny. They’re words he’s been thinking about for a long time -- months -- but there hasn’t been any _time --_

‘I do love you.’ Castiel’s voice is matter-of-fact now, the distress of a few minutes ago dissipating. Dean can feel the tension leaching out of his body, too, limbs relaxing against his own.

Dean sighs and tries not to feel _too_ much like a girl because that isn’t what he meant and he can tell Castiel hasn’t understood him by the tone of his voice. ‘Go to sleep, Cas.’

**Author's Note:**

> TItle from "So Far Away," Staind, _The Singles 1996-2006_.


End file.
